I jolt at the sound of Josie’s voice, glancing over my shoulder to see my best friend gazing down at me. ‘Nothing. I’m just happy to be back.’ I smile warmly.
It’s been almost ten years since we first came to Chamonix together at the age of eighteen.
‘What time did you get up?’ Josie asks, belatedly noticing that I’m fully dressed.
‘An hour or so ago,’ I reply, tightening my ponytail high up on my head.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she grumbles, not expecting an answer as she flops onto the sofa beside me and yawns. Her medium-length dark hair is all tangled and her blue eyes look half asleep. She’s still gorgeous, though.
‘Coffee?’ I ask, bounding to my feet and heading into the small kitchen.
‘Yes, please,’ she replies.
We only arrived yesterday, and last night we hit an old haunt and drank one beer too many. To Josie’s irritation, I rarely suffer with hangovers, but then again,Imanaged to avoid being roped into the shots she did at midnight.
I switch on the radio and set about making the coffee, humming along to the music while she chills out.
‘What do you want to do today?’ she calls.
‘Climb a mountain.’ I poke my head around the door and flash her a hopeful grin.
‘Noooooo. No, no, no, no, no.’ Josie shakes her head adamantly and I continue with my task, chuckling to myself.
‘Sorry,’ she says, taking her cup from me when I reappear. ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun.’
I frown at her. ‘Don’t be silly.’
I’m getting married in two weeks, and all I wanted to do hen-wise was to come back here for a few days with my closest friend. I’ve thought a lot about Chamonix over the years, and as Josie and I experienced it together, it felt right that we should return, just the two of us.
My sisters were a little put out at not being invited, but now they’ve made other plans. Eliza and I are going to see a band in Manchester and Rose has organised a spa day. It’ll be great to have some one-on-one time with each of them. We don’t get to do that nearly enough these days.
‘So, aside from climbing a mountain, what else could we do?’ Josie perseveres.
‘Paraglide off one?’ I ask hopefully.
She pulls a face. ‘You know I don’t do extreme sports. I’m a boring mummy these days.’
Josie has a one-year-old son, Harry, back at home and this is the first time she’s been away from him.
‘How about we go on the Aiguille?’ I suggest. ‘You haven’t seen the top at this time of year.’
She went home towards the end of the winter season in March all those years ago, but I managed to secure a contract working on the Aiguille du Midi cable car. I loved life here so much that I ended up staying on through the summer.
‘Okay, sure,’ she agrees, nodding. ‘Guess I’d better get cracking then. I assume we’ll have to queue for ages like all the other tourists?’
‘Mmm, unfortunately. I don’t know anyone who works there any more.’
The thought makes my heart squeeze.
A couple of hours later, we’re nearly 4,000 metres above sea level on the highest and most famous of the Aiguilles de Chamonix.
I feel giddy with elation. Or maybe it’s the altitude. Whatever it is, I’m ecstatic to be back.
‘Wow,’ Josie murmurs as we stand in quiet reverence on the panoramic viewing platform. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here.’
I gaze around at the jagged browny-grey peaks of the surrounding mountains. Mont Blanc is ahead of us and carpeted with snow, nonchalantly indifferent to the fact that it’s summer. It looks deceptively close, but the way from here to its summit is one of the more technical climbing routes. I know because I’ve done it, as well as another route that is slightly less challenging, but not to be underestimated.
‘I can’t believe you climbed the White Lady twice.’ Josie appears to be reading my mind.
